


fated red and gold

by demonglass



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bang Chan & Lee Felix are Siblings, Fate, M/M, Major Character Injury, Requited Love, Royalty AU!, chan is oblivious as fuck, changlix are fools but they're fools in love so it's ok, it'll be ok tho just trust me, minho is absolutely fucking whipped, princes chan n felix n changbin, there's a duel in this bitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 17:11:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18721402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonglass/pseuds/demonglass
Summary: Fate says Chan must marry for his family, strengthen ties with a neighboring kingdom for the sake of all their people.Fate is a stalking beast, circling him like a hawk, threatening to bear down and snatch him in its claws. Chan has lived in its shadow all his life. Today he is meant to be engaged, finally caught its grasp.But fate is a funny little thing. It is not at all what it seems to be, and Chan is about to find out.





	fated red and gold

**Author's Note:**

> ok this is an oldie that i wrote a good year and a half ago and if you were here for my anime phase i actually posted it once before and the original is still up on my other pseud but i couldn't stop thinking about this story with skz instead and then i finally caved and did it. a night of revising and a morning of adding another 1k to the ending to make it more satisfying for myself and hopefully give the story more closure and now here we are! i hope you enjoy!

The sky is dark in the early hours of the morning. Outside of the window, pink clouds haven’t yet dusted the sky. The whole kingdom seems to be cold and empty, but the room is neither when Chan wakes to the creaking of an opening door. When he opens his eyes, Minho is there, halfway across the room with a lamp in his hand and two swords at his side, lighting up everything from the bedposts to the stone walls and large glass windows. There’s an easy warmth flooding the air that has little to do with the flickering candle.

“Good morning, my lord.” Minho says, diplomatically subduing an oncoming smile.

“Good morning, Minho.” Chan doesn’t bother with diplomacy in the safety and darkness of his own room. He smiles openly. “You’re early today.”

Minho nods and his dark hair sweeps gently against his forehead. “You have a busy day ahead of you. Was I wrong to believe you would prefer an earlier start before mealtime today?”

Chan gives his answer without words when he folds back the blankets on his bed and drops to the cool floor with practiced grace.

It doesn’t take much time to don his training gear - pliant clothes that allow for the movement he needs - and before long he’s quietly following the light from Minho’s lantern through the winding corridors of the castle and towards the courtyards in the heart of the East Wing.

As expected, the only eyes they pass are those of maids and attendants, all of whom have the discretion to turn the other way when they see the crown prince coming their way.

Minho doesn’t speak much while Chan follows him down flights of stairs on a route neither of them truly need the light to navigate, but when he notices Minho is more subdued than usual, he attributes it to the early hour and focuses on the distraction that awaits him in the open air of the courtyard instead. Too much will happen once the sun rises, so he holds onto the normalcy of one last dark morning as long as he can.

The archway leading to open cobblestone comes into focus and Minho pulls ahead to ignite the torches mounted on the walls so there’s something more than the creep of pre-dawn glow to illuminate the large, open space. Chan moves into the half-light and finds the smile back on his face when Minho comes out to join him. By the end of the day, this and every other morning like it will be a distant memory, but for now, the stone under his feet and Minho a few paces in front of him are the only things in the world.

“Are you ready?”

Chan nods and catches the hilt of the rapier Minho tosses over from the holster at his waist, one of two sleek twin blades Chan had asked the royal blacksmith Woojin to shape for them a few years prior. After months of growing accustomed to the feel of the new sword in his hand and the tug of its weight on his arm, Amari is as familiar as a close friend. Chan knows how it cuts through the air just as much as he knows how Minho will try to keep from smiling when he beats his prince in yet another duel.

Minho kicks a foot back for balance and unsheathes his own blade. The match has begun. Maybe this time Chan will last long enough to see Minho break a sweat.

Minho lunges and all thought dissipates from Chan’s mind. Shining silver cuts through the air at breakneck speeds. Chan turns and dodges and tries to find an opening to send a swing back, but as usual, Minho has him trapped in an endless loop of defense. The blades catch each other just inches away from his skin and Chan grits his teeth. These weapons were not designed for clashing. Another few hits like that and Minho might do real damage.

Chan slips farther from the center of the courtyard and tries to put enough distance between himself and Magnar, a sword as stubborn and unyielding as its wielder. Minho won’t make it that easy though, and he chases Chan until he runs himself into a tight corner. Back only feet from the wall, it seems like it will be mere seconds before Magnar’s steel lands lightly on Chan’s chest and he has to give up the match. But the sun hasn’t grazed the horizon yet, so he can’t let the fight end. He stills for the first time since Minho put him on the run and waits with tense muscles for the blade swinging towards him to get close enough. Just before the strike, he jerks Amari up to deflect Magnar into the wall beside him so he has enough leeway to leap to the side and steady his stance.

Minho almost seems to glow in the low light when he whirls around from the wall. His rapier is back up, balancing in his hand like an extension of his own body, and his eyes are just as sharp as its edges.

“That’s new,” he says slowly, watching Chan carefully.

Chan knows he can’t celebrate the praise until the game has ended, so he just nods, feet still leading him away. Minho looks more dangerous than ever; a wildcard that Chan’s legs want to keep backing away from, but his heart is pounding in his chest and he realizes he’s more excited by the idea of a fight than he is scared of another defeat.

So, when Minho stalks towards him and begins to circle him like a lion, Chan spins slowly with him, feet light on the ground. With Amari gripped tightly in his hand and shadows playing enticing tricks against his opponent's skin, he feels less like his hunter’s next meal and more like half the heart of an intricate dance that will end with a sword to his skin.

Minho, tired of waiting, tightens his slow circle and watches with unwavering eyes, calculating the best place to aim his next jab. Chan takes it as an invitation to strike first and then the duel resumes at full speed. But Minho dodges with ease, counters, and dodges again like he’s seeing the world in slow motion. Chan continuously cuts nothing but air until Minho’s dodges have dwindled and been replaced by his own attacks. Chan’s light feet were trained for moving with purpose and grace, not intricate fighting, and eventually he can’t dodge anymore. Magnar slices through the air and catches Amari at an angle that rips the hilt from Chan’s grasp, and he watches helplessly as it arcs away from him and clatters to the ground near Minho’s feet.

Sweat pools in the dimples of Chan’s skin and small beads of blood drip from his palm where sharp steel nicked it. Minho lifts his rapier back up and levels it at Chan’s heaving chest.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Chan and Minho jump apart, eyes tearing away from each other to land on the source of an all too familiar voice.

“Felix, what are you doing all the way down here?” Chan asks in his calmest tone like he doesn’t already know the answer.

“Looking for you, Chan. We cannot have father in a fit over you before sun-up. Everything is meant to run smoothly today.”

Chan has half a mind to argue, to turn his back on his future and ask Minho for a rematch instead, but his brother is right. First light has come, and with it, the end of what little freedom he has tried so hard to keep firmly within his grasp. As soon as he steps out of the courtyard to follow Felix into a day that’s been perfectly planned for months he’ll be lead from place to place across the castle until he ends up with a proposal that will trap him for the rest of his life. He didn’t think it would come so soon.

“My apologies.” Minho’s voice pulls Chan out of his downward spiral. “I brought my lord from his chambers. Please forgive me.”

Felix nods, but his gaze remains firm and even on Chan until he crumbles beneath it. “All right,” he sighs, shoulders sagging the slightest bit as he forces himself to leave with his brother. Behind the princes, Minho sheathes both swords and follows silently.

When they arrive at the baths, Chan is crowded by his attendants and swept away to the private sector. All traces of dirt and sweat are scrubbed from his skin so it will glow like new porcelain. Tangles from the night before are eased out of his hair and soapy fingers run through it until every dark strand shines.

As soon as he’s dry, silken robes are draped over his shoulders and he’s whisked out of the humid room and back to his own chambers. He’s so overwhelmingly numb that he doesn’t notice Minho peel away from the door to join the crowd.

Skilled hands work Chan into the first of many tight, handsome outfits he is to wear for the day ahead, and twist his wild hair into perfect knots and curls. Others carefully paint his eyes and smooth his cheeks, bury him in clouds of strong colognes until he’s choking on his own breath and barely recognizes himself in the mirror.

As soon as their work is done, the flood of attendants flows out of the room like a receding tide of dark gray and Chan is left drowning all on his own. Then Minho clears his throat and Chan looks up from the pristine, distorted reflection of himself to familiar features that snap him out of his daze.

“It’s time to go, my lord. The King’s meeting will begin soon.”

“Yes,” he says, remembering himself. “Thank you.”

The corridors are overflowing with energy and life when Chan and Minho arrive in the North Wing. Everyone in the castle is busy preparing for the ball to be held that night. The Great Ballroom had been cleared out the day before, but there is still much to be done. In the controlled chaos of the bustle, no one is stopped long enough to pay attention to the crown prince, so he and Minho slip cleanly through the commotion.

It’s not long before they make it to the Hall of Glass, leaving heavy-set stone walls and arching ceilings for wide crystalline windows with a view of the palace sun gardens. Chan lets himself smile when he catches sight of the King waiting there for him. It doesn’t matter that he’s the most powerful man in any kingdom east of the Border, right now, when he’s alone, he is simply-

“Father,” Chan says as he comes to a stop by his side. “I hope I did not keep you waiting long.”

The king turns and grins. “You are punctual as ever.” His eyes fall to Minho, whose shoulders tense. “I trust the preparations did not impede you.”

“No, my King.” Minho’s face is smooth as glass, his eyes as clear.

“Wonderful.” The king turns his attention back to Chan. “Let us go, then. The Noblemen will be thrilled to see you. Felix is already with them, you know how he loves their stories.”

“I do,” Chan agrees softly and lets himself be swept away yet again. While they walk he nods along silently to his father’s proud comments about how smoothly the day is going so far. He remembers the faces of all the noble families as his father tells him they are eagerly waiting to catch a glimpse of him. Then he and his father make their entrance in the dining hall, greeting all the fawning, prestigious men and women waiting there, and he listens to their praise of the palace and flattery of everything imaginable. However, as soon as the conversation turns to speculation about the visiting prince of Perdu, first in line for his family’s throne, Chan’s ears seem to fill with cotton.

He hears their voices, but not their words. He turns his head and searches the room for a familiar pair of dark eyes, but finds only the downcast brown of his brother’s. When his gaze falls to Felix’s lap he sees hands clasped together so tightly the knuckles have gone white, and his eyes sting just as much as the cut on his palm. His head is so clouded that he doesn’t wonder why Felix seems to be just as off-put by the chatter about Perdu’s prince, but he is forced to come back to his senses when the questions drift back to him.

“When did you meet him?”

“Is he as handsome as they say?”

“Will the proposal really be tonight?”

He answers their eager inquiries with just the words they want to hear.

“I met him when I first visited Perdu. Everything there was stunning.” And, “I am sure we’ll all find out.”

The rest of the meeting goes by in a blur. As soon as the last few straggling noblemen retreat to their quarters to prepare for the coming ball, Chan is free to do the same. He stands to leave at the same time Felix does, but his father speaks before he can escape.

“Chan, stay a moment.”

Chan watches Felix until he disappears through the door, leaving him alone, and turns. “Yes, Father?”

“You know the proposal will be tonight. You and Prince Changbin will be engaged.”

“I do.”

The king considers him a moment. “This is the way I asked your mother’s hand as well. It is the way of our bloodline; the firstborn always marries to strengthen the kingdom’s ties. But our fate is not loveless, you will see soon enough.”

The finality of his father’s words rings through Chan and settles like stone in his bones. “Of course, Father.”

“That will be all.”

Chan nods, dismissed. In the hallway, he steadies himself, waits a moment for his breaths to even out. When he’s fit to be seen again, he sets off towards the East Wing. Minho must still be in the gathering of the principal guards, because it is Seungmin, a guard of his father’s who is recovering from an injury, that accompanies him until he withdraws into his private chambers.

The dozen attendants from earlier are waiting for him there, and as soon as the heavy wooden door closes, blocking the guard from view, they begin their work yet again. The fine clothes slip off his shoulders and are replaced by a stunning, dark piece threaded with glittering jewels. Small, ornate stars grace the hems where they fall. They seem to dance in the night of the silk when Chan moves, and shine under the midday light that pours through the windows. Delicate twists in his hair from the morning are combed out and tousled curls fall from the top of Chan’s head to pool around his ears. The shadows around his eyes darken and his skin smooths even further, until the canvas of his skin is filled and the work is done.

Chan waits for his chambers to empty out, and doesn’t look twice at his reflection before the noise outside his door dies down and he leaves as well. He’s not entirely sure what he hopes to gain from visiting Felix, but his feet carry him there regardless. The faint memory of his brother’s eyes, usually so lively in the company of political talk, glued to the tablecloth instead nags at his mind and propels him forward through curving back passageways until a familiar voice from up ahead brings him to a halt.

“Your guard will come soon, he will expect you in your chambers. You should go back now, as should I.”

Chan frowns and tries to place the voice to a face, but before he can, a new voice floats through the corridor, and to his horror, he knows exactly who it belongs to.

“I know, my prince, but you will leave tomorrow, and Perdu is so very far away. What I would give to have you stay another day.”

Chan’s breath catches in his throat as his brother speaks softly to the very same prince Chan himself is meant to marry. He can picture now exactly, the smooth curve of Changbin’s body, his warm skin bright against his dark hair, and deep black eyes just the wrong shade to set flames in Chan’s heart the way he knows they are supposed to. He begins to speak again, but Chan doesn’t want to know what he says. He backs quickly out of earshot and hurries back the way he came in the hopes that the quiet might let him sort through the jumbled mess inside his mind.

However, the silence of his chambers doesn’t give room to think. The deafening nothingness simply allows the words to echo through his head until he can’t hear anything over the rushing of blood in his ears. He sits heavily on the neatly made bed and drops his head into his hands. He doesn’t want to know what he overheard. His father’s words of love and fate seem very far away, but he reaches for them desperately. He would give anything to believe what his father seems so sure of, but it seems even more impossible now than it did merely an hour ago.

Chan doesn’t know how long he spends drowning in his own hazy memories before a sharp knock rings cleanly through the air and cuts through the fog in his head. He sits up right away and moves to the door quickly; even greeting men and women he only knows from weeks of memorization in lessons sounds better stewing in his thoughts.

The door swings open to reveal Minho waiting on the other side, and for a moment, Chan is caught off guard. Minho had been quieter than usual all day, but his air of collected poise had never left him. Now, however, his soft set mouth is pulled in a tight, grim line, and his eyes find Chan’s for only a moment before scattering across the room behind him. His body is tensed as if ready for battle. Not even the handsome upgrade to his usual uniform for the formal setting of the night can distract Chan from how unsteady Minho appears to be. The stark contrast to his usual firm, unwavering presence brings yet another pang of dread to Chan’s stomach.

“It is time to go,” Minho says stiffly, and the dread spreads like weeds in the garden of Chan’s gut. He nods and follows Minho silently out the door. They make it through two corridors before he breaks the silence, strangely desperate.

“What did Hyunjin say in the meeting of the Royal Guard? You look sterner than usual,” Chan asks though he’s unsure of whether he truly wants an answer.

Minho as good as flinches at the words, and the weight in Chan’s stomach sinks deeper still. There’s a long pause before he speaks. “There have been accounts of dissent in the Storm Isles. The old rivalry with Perdu has been upset once again by tonight’s ball. Hyunjin and the rest of the King’s Guard are concerned that discourse may have spread closer to the Capital. We’ve merely been instructed to keep even greater vigilance than usual.”

Chan’s voice is small and empty when he whispers a simple, “Oh.”

Minho’s presence next to him flares up like hungry flames fed by Chan’s trepidation. “There is no need for worry, my lord.” Certainty seems to have flooded back into his voice. “I promise that no harm will come to you tonight.”

As desperately as Chan wants to take solace in Minho’s oath, the castle’s light air has gone sour in his lungs. It takes him a moment to realize Minho has stilled a few paces behind him. When Chan turns to face him, the bright light from the morning’s fight is back in his burning eyes.

“My lord, do not worry about the whispers of far off men who think they must still spread the anger of their grandfathers. We are not a kingdom of war, but should any ill-intentioned foe infiltrate the walls of this palace, by my life and limb, no harm shall befall you.”

And then Chan remembers: this is the same man that has stood by his side for years. This is Minho. There is no one he trusts more in the entire world. This time he believes the assurances.

“All right,” he says, the shake easing out of his voice.

Minho nods, satisfied. “To the Grand Ballroom, you have much to do tonight, and the sun has only just begun to set.”

 

When Chan and Minho arrive at the magnificent, meters high doors of the ballroom, they are already swung open. The room is partly visible through the awning, obscured only by sweeping silk banners in red and gold, and the six King’s Guard members stationed before the opening. Beyond the men and women with gleaming swords at their hips are handsomely dressed attendants fluttering around with food and drink balanced in their hands, and two long tables on either side of the resplendent room. The tables are buried in pristine white cloths that stretch from end to end, and ornate vases overflowing with the most beautiful flowers from every corner of the kingdom. The banners from the entryway wave to him from the arching ceiling inside the ballroom as well, and Chan can’t help but stare in awe. He’s seen many balls before, but never anything like this.

When he tears his eyes down from the ceiling, they fall on his mother’s beckoning hand. He takes his cue and strides over to take his place by the lone, glowing queen. The king has not yet arrived, but this does not surprise him. He’s surely still waiting in his chambers, preparing to make his grand entrance once the ballroom has filled with every lord and lady that can squeeze in. What does catch Chan off guard, however, is that he can’t see Felix anywhere. The sound of voices ghosting through a darkly-lit corridor flashes in Chan’s mind, but before it can fully take form, Felix sweeps into the room and the worry vanishes. Felix settles in on their mother’s other side and Chan lets a breath of relief escape him.

Noble men and women begin to appear in the doorway and Chan puts a smile on his face. He greets the lords and ladies as they come to him with a firm handshake and open ears, just as Felix, two steps to his left, does the same. It seems to drag on for ages, but he doesn’t know how long really it lasts.

Once the grand room has been filled to the brim with eager an eager crowd, a second door at the head of the room swings open and a hush falls over the sea of people. Heavy footsteps echo through the air, and in moments the king appears in all his shining glory by his family’s side.

“Welcome, honored guests. And welcome, friends from the northern Perdu.” The king gestures to the main entryway and all eyes turn to watch Prince Changbin and his private guard stride proudly into the room. He tilts his head in greeting, smiling gratefully to the king before twisting slightly and smiling to the rest of the royal family. Chan knows the gesture is supposed to be for him, but Changbin’s eyes skip past him. With a sinking feeling, Chan knows without need for confirmation that the look on Changbin’s handsome face is meant for his brother, not him. He can’t dwell on it though, because the king claps his hands together and the room erupts in sound once again. Deafening applause soon turns to a dull roar of idle chatter, and the ball has finally begun.

Chan, finally able to leave his place at his father’s side, slips into the crowd and disappears. He sees Changbin to his left, dazzling the crowd surrounding him with his tales of a land far away, farther than anywhere the nobles have ever known. Chan turns away, hoping to sink into the sea of bodies, but he barely makes it three steps away before a hand catches his shoulder. He knows who it is before he spins to face him.

“Prince Chan,” he says simply.

“Prince Changbin, I thought you were busy entertaining.”

The stunning smile graces his face once more and Changbin is good enough that Chan almost can’t figure out how forced it is. He finds the answer in his eyes; bright as winter snow, but empty when Changbin looks at him. He tries for pleasantries nonetheless. This is the night they are meant to be engaged, after all. “I caught sight of you and excused myself. They understood.”

When Chan looks past his eyes and over his shoulder, he sees the nobles watching them unabashedly and nods. “Dare I ask what brought you over to me? Is there something you wish to discuss?”

Changbin’s smile fades the slightest bit. “We are to be engaged. Surely that is enough ground to simply wish to speak.”

Chan considers him a moment. “It is. However, I do not think I am the one with whom you wish to speak.”

“I do not follow,” he says evenly.

Against his better judgement, Chan accepts the dare in Changbin’s voice. “What I mean to say is that I believe you would rather speak to my brother.”

The prince's empty eyes fill with ice.

“Am I wrong?” Chan asks when met with a telling silence.

“Would any answer from me change your mind?”

Chan shakes his head just so, aware of the eyes still on them. “I’m afraid you should be more careful with where you choose your rendezvous. I hope the corridors in Perdu do not carry echoes the way they do here.”

Realization floods Changbin’s face and Chan pauses a moment. He feels the sting of eyes on the back of his head and has an idea whose they are. “If I’m not mistaken, you and I should have all the rest of time together, but that doesn’t start until the morning. Respectfully, I would make good use of the time we have left.”

Animosity ebbs from Changbin’s face like melting snow and he nods, almost smiles for real. They have much to discuss, but it will come later, when it’s the only thing left for them.

Changbin turns away and Chan lets him go. He watches his brother light up at his appearance with cautious eyes and wonders briefly how dark the world will feel in the morning, when all of this is but a lingering memory. Hurried movement catches his eyes and he loses the image of his brother and the prince.

“Chan!”

He turns sharply at the sound of his name, but too many things happen all at once for him to focus on any of it. He sees Minho cutting through a sea of startled people to get to him, sees an attendant to his right drop the silver platter in his hand, hears the scrape of metal like a sword being unsheathed. He doesn’t see the knife until it’s already flying through the air. Minho bursts through the barrier of bodies between them, and then Chan sees only stars.

The red and gold of the banners swinging from the ceiling above him pool together like liquid and he swears he can almost feel the wetness blanketing his skin. Then the rushing in his ears fades and he realizes everyone in the room is screaming.

He sits up faster than he should and his heart falls straight to his feet. His blue shirt is stained splattered red, but there’s no pain on his skin to match with a wound. Minho groans next to him and suddenly cold fear unlike anything he’s ever felt before rushes through his veins. If he had been standing, his knees would have given way under the weight of what he sees next: Minho crumpled on the ground beside him, a gleaming knife in his side. The bright blood coating their clothes and the floor is trickling slowly but steadily from Minho’s stomach.

Hyunjin and the rest of the King’s Guard swarm them in an instant. Out of the corner of his eye, Chan watches them force down the attendant he had seen moments before, while others break away to drag the king and queen to safety. The guards from Perdu lead Felix out alongside Changbin.

None of it matters though, because when Minho’s eyes leave the sight of his own blood to find Chan’s, everything else disappears. Chan thinks he can hear himself shouting for help, but it sounds very far away. When Minho’s lips move, the cries die in his throat.

“You’re all right,” he says softly.

Chan nods numbly. He can’t fathom why Minho is worried about him when he’s the one lying hurt on the ground. “Don’t move.” His voice breaks. “Jisung will help you.”

Minho swallows hard but his eyes never stray from Chan’s. Chan is frozen, helpless under his gaze. The cold fear in his veins has spread to a blizzard throughout his whole body, and he trembles from the force of it. He doesn’t ask how Minho knew to get in the way of the knife before it was even thrown. He doesn’t ask why it had to be Minho, why it couldn’t have been a shield or anything, _anything_ else. He won’t ask any questions until Minho is okay. It’s his own silent plea for him to stay.

His hand slips into Minho’s and he holds onto him as carefully as if he were holding his own heart. Someone brushes past him and drops to their knees on Minho’s other side. Chan breathes a sigh of relief when he sees that it is the palace healer, Jisung. He doesn’t speak for fear of distracting him, but when he orders the guards to take him away from Minho so he has a clear space to work, a protest pushes past his lips.

A guard, he thinks it’s Jeongin, but he’s not focused on him, pulls him up by his shoulder regardless. Jisung doesn’t look up from the tools he pulls from his medical kit, but he speaks to Chan calmly, the eye in the middle of a raging hurricane.

“Minho will live if you allow me to work. Don’t worry, you may see him when I send for you.”

The weight of his words hits Chan like a ton of bricks and he sinks into Jeongin’s hold like a sun sinking into the sea. Jeongin directs Chan through the dissipating crowds of confused and terrified guests, but Chan barely notices. He can’t stop thinking about Minho’s words from before the ball. When Minho said he would protect him, he hadn’t thought it would be at such a cost. But Jisung promised he would live, and for the time being, that has to be enough.

Before he knows it, Jeongin has stopped at a door that opens only when he knocks three staggered rhythms on the dark wood. Hyunjin comes into view when the door swings away, and he ushers Chan in, leaving Jeongin to head back to the mess left behind in the Grand Ballroom.

The door bangs closed behind Chan, and his eyes drift across the room, taking in the faces of everyone already there. His mother and father stand close together, whispering to each other with hushed voices. Felix is staring wide-eyed at Chan, and when he catches sight of the still-wet blood on his hands and chest, he lets out a small noise Chan has never heard from him before. Changbin startles by his side, and Chan notices his hand is so close to Felix’s they’re almost touching. He finds it doesn’t matter though. Until Minho is back by his side, nothing does. The proposal can’t happen tonight anyway, so Chan doesn’t waste any more time thinking of it. He lets out a shaky breath and wipes his red and sweaty, trembling hands on his ruined pants. The fine material doesn’t matter anymore either.

“It’s not my blood,” he says, remembering that no one else knows what caused the chaos. “My . . .” he trails off for a moment, unsure of what to say. “Someone tried to kill me. Minho saved me.”

He moves to his parents. His mother smooths his now disheveled hair away from his face and kisses his cheek. His father places a hand on his shoulder. “I am glad you are all right.”

Chan nods, still numb, and steps away from his parents. Now they must be King and Queen, not mother and father. He gravitates to Felix, whose hand leaves Changbin’s so he can wrap his arms around his brother.

“Is Minho all right?” Felix all but whispers in his ear.

Chan’s heart skips in his chest. “Jisung is with him. Said he will live.”

Felix pulls away and tries for a watery smile. “I’m glad. I know how much you love him.”

The words jolt Chan out of his daze and burn inside his chest, chasing out the stormy winter, but Changbin speaks before he can fully process what Felix has said.

“This is because of me. It must be the Storm Isles. I did not realize how strong their dissent was. I am so sorry, Prince Chan.”

His face is full of guilt, but Chan barely notices. His mind is buzzing as though it’s full of summer cicadas. _I know how much you love him_ . Felix’s voice echoes in his head, reverberating against the very lining, growing strength each time it fails to escape. _I know how much you love him._ The room falls back into deafening silence, but Chan’s head is still screaming. Each passing second feels like minutes, and each minute feels like days. _I know how much you love him._

By the time the door opens again, Chan has no idea how long it has been since it closed behind him, but the sight of JIsung means it doesn’t matter. He’s accompanied by Jeongin, and he heads over to Hyunjin and the king while Jisung approaches Chan.

“Minho is resting in the healing chambers. You may see him now.”

The words are barely out of his mouth before Chan takes off. He rushes through the open door and down the twisting corridors until he nears the familiar room and bursts in unceremoniously. He’s by Minho’s side in an instant, making sure with his own eyes that he’s all right.

“How are you?” He sounds breathless even to himself.

Minho looks up at him with tired eyes and smiles weakly. Chan’s heart kicks hard against his ribs and he slips his hand back into Minho’s. He doesn’t want to let him go again.

“I’m okay,” Minho assures him, voice smaller than usual.

Chan nods. “Good, good.” He tries to ignore his burning eyes. “How did you know something was wrong?”

“Hyunjin checked the attendants on list for the night and when I counted heads during the king’s welcome, there were too many. Someone must have made it into the castle and slipped into the room while all eyes were on the king. As soon as I realized, I told the rest of the Guard and tried to get to you. I didn’t know who was going to be attacked, or when. I was just lucky I made it to you before he did.” Minho pauses and his voice goes impossibly small. “I was almost too late.”

Chan shakes his head, brings his other hand up so he can hold Minho’s with both. “Why did you get in the way of that knife? You could have used a shield.” He knows asking after the fact won’t change anything, but he has to know.

“I couldn’t have made it to you in time with the extra weight. I knew my suit was sturdier than yours and would stunt a knife much better than your flimsy frills. Jisung said if the knife had struck you there would have been twice the damage. You might not have survived.” Minho clutches his hand tighter for a brief, desperate moment. His eyes flash with fear and Chan’s breath catches in his throat.

“But what if that hadn’t been enough? What if Jisung hadn’t been able to save you?” Chan doesn’t realize he’s crying until he tastes salt on his lips.

Minho smiles again, the kind of sad smile that makes Chan’s chest burn. “Chan, since the day I was first sworn to you, you have been my entire world. In nearly ten years, nothing has changed my devotion to you. Nothing could change it now. I would greet anything in the world with open arms if it would keep you safe. There will be more guards after me, but nothing exists in any world, known or not, that could replace you. I would never wish to breathe air on this earth knowing I didn’t do everything in my power to ensure you were breathing as well. I’ve known this much for years now. Nothing has changed my certainty. Nothing matters more to me than you, Chan. Nothing at all.”

Chan watches in wonder as the embers he’d seen in Minho’s eyes in the ballroom blaze back into flames. Then, he doesn’t see it, but he feels the world shifting around him; clicking into place like every little part of his life is a puzzle piece falling together, falling into place.

_I know how much you love him._

And it hits him just like that. Not an earthquake, but a gentle breeze. This is what his brother meant. The reason Changbin has never touched his heart like his father promised he would. The reason his favorite mornings are the ones with sharp steel in his hand and fire leaping across his skin. The reason his heart jumps at every pair of dark maple eyes and falls when they’re never quite right. He doesn’t just love Minho. Somehow, during their fights and rides and days filled with business and long years stuck together, he’d sunk into the deep end without realizing. Somehow he’d fallen blindly for with a soul more beautiful than any he’d ever known. He is in love with Minho, and he isn’t blind anymore.

“Our fate is never loveless,” he whispers, echoing his father’s words from the morning. He remembers the statements finality carving into his bones, and decides right then and there that- “I can’t marry the prince.”

Minho startles at the declaration, but Chan can feel it still, buried in his very bones. This is right. This is what he’s meant to do. Changbin, with his cold, northern kingdom, is not his fate.

“Minho,” he says softly, and the name feels right on his tongue. “I’ll be right back.” He hopes his own certainty will be enough for both of them. Somehow it is, and Minho squeezes his hand before he lets it go.

Chan is breathless by the time he arrives at the room his family is still stewing in. His parents seems to be deep in discussion, but when they see him, they turn to him with news, oblivious to his own.

“I am glad you have returned. We have come to a decision. At first light we will show we are unbroken by this attempted attack. We will announce your engagement to Prince Changbin, uniting our kingdoms.”

His father’s voice is strong and sure, the voice of a king, but Chan is sure as well. His eyes flicker to Changbin, still by the far wall with Felix close by. Neither of them look happy. So Chan takes a deep breath and speaks his heart.

“Father, the kingdoms will know we are unbroken, but it will not be because of an announcement of the engagement. I am sorry, but I will not marry Changbin.”

The king’s mouth drops open. Across the room, so does Felix’s. Changbin and the queen gasp.

“Father, you told me just this morning that our fates are never loveless. I am telling you now that this path will lead to nothing but misery. For both of us.”

Felix snaps out of his stunned silence first. “Father also told you it is your fate to marry into an ally’s family to strengthen our kingdom once more, for the generations to come, just as generations past did for you. It is the fate of every firstborn our bloodline has ever known.”

This brings the king from his silence as well. “You are right.” He hesitates. “Both of you.” His eyes are shining when he turns to the queen. Something passes between them and the air in the room sparks with intensity.

Chan feels electrified when his mother’s eyes land back on him. “I suppose we should have known it would come to this one day. Our fate is a fickle thing, but it does not waver, does not sway with the whims we wish upon it. I’m afraid there is something we have kept from you. Both of you. Something only your father and a few trusted others, and I know for certain. Many more may have guessed at it, but I suppose it no longer matters.”

The king takes her hand and squeezes. It seems to give her the strength to go on.

“For a time following my coronation, there was worry that I would be unable to bear any children. When I eventually did find myself pregnant, we were overjoyed. Finally, we would have a child. That was all that mattered to me after so many months fearing I would never bring life into the world, but the Kingdom was on edge. The Floating Plains were uneasy, and though we remained at peace, the need for a strong heir to the throne was imperative. The promise of a royal child calmed the storms brewing around us. For a few moon cycles everything was fine. Then my baby came, he came so early . . . too early. He was small and pale and so weak that we did not know if he would live. We named him regardless. We didn’t want to believe our firstborn would be taken from us, so we named him with all the love in our hearts. We named him Felix.”

A choked sob falls from Felix’s lips and he sags into Changbin, whose arms wrap around him to hold him steady.

“We decided to keep your birth a secret until the time you were meant to be born in the hopes that you would be stronger by then, but when the time came, you were still too small, too fragile. And I was pregnant again. Your father told the people instead that I was still recovering, and we kept you safe and hidden, praying for your health. Several moons later, we announced that there was another baby on the way, and by the time my second boy was born, right on time, glowing with the rosy cheeks we dreamed of, we had come to a decision. Later in the year, when the kingdom had grown tired of waiting for news of our second child, we showed them both of you. They saw a big, healthy child in their King’s arms, and a small, swaddled baby in mine. They learned your names, and they assumed, as we hoped that would, which son had come first. We never told them otherwise. We never told you either. I am sorry.”

Heavy silence fills the room, and part of Chan has whiplash from how fast his entire world crumbled and reassembled before him, but the other part of him feels like flying. He isn’t the firstborn. He isn’t fated to marry Changbin and tear him away from his brother. For the first time in his life, his fate is in his own hands.

Felix must be going through something similar, and he must come to a similar, yet opposite conclusion. His shining eyes meet Chan’s and he smiles. Chan hasn’t seen him look so weightless in years, and then he’s smiling too.

Changbin twists Felix in his arms and Chan turns back to his parents before he sees them kiss. He smiles to them too, so widely it hurts. Then he’s turning on his heel and running back to Minho with two of the most important truths he will ever have to tell.

The path back to the healing chambers is familiar to his feet now, and he barely registers the tunnels and turns his body carries him through. His mind is elsewhere, stuck in fractured sentences from his mother, trying to piece them together into an explanation for Minho. When he arrives, he has an idea of what to say, but after bursting through the door and seeing Minho, lip in his teeth and fingers digging into his arm, every thought flies away from him like birds set to the sky. Minho’s eyes find him and his hand tears away from his arm to fall still at his side. His lip falls from his teeth, but he says nothing, just watches Chan pause long enough to catch his breath and close the heavy wood door firmly before approaching him again.

Chan stands, suddenly unsure, and stares at the red marks from Minho’s nails on the skin of his arm. He sees that Minho’s lower lip is pink and slightly swollen from the bite of teeth and his mouth goes dry. “Minho,” he says softly, voice shaking just enough for Minho to notice.

“My lord.” There’s something in Minho’s eyes that Chan struggles to read. Why has he closed himself off, locked Chan out?

He’s not sure what he’d planned on saying, but what comes out instead is, “You called me Chan before.” His voice barely above a whisper. The shield over Minho’s face begins to splinter.

“I was scared. I forgot myself. Please forgive me.” Minho’s eyes shine when he speaks. He blinks one too many times.

 _Oh._ Chan sinks into the chair beside the bed. Minho is still scared. “There is nothing to forgive.”

Minho shakes his head. “I said too much. I should not have said anything.” He takes a breath even Chan can hear the shake of, and his voice goes so quiet Chan has to lean in to hear what he says next. “What did you do?”

Chan holds Minho’s eyes and it is abundantly clear that Minho is struggling not to look away. It is so unlike Minho that Chan wants to reach out and lay a gentle hand against his cheek. To, for once, reassure him instead of the other way around. He sounds so calm when he speaks he surprises even himself. “I am not marrying the prince.”

Minho swallows hard and his lips tremble until he presses them together in a tight line. “The kingdom,” he says weakly. “Your fate.”

“Will both be secure.” Chan smiles, a small little thing he nevertheless hopes will ease Minho’s fear.

“How?” He doesn’t dare sound hopeful yet. “The firstborn always marries to strengthen ties.”

“I know,” says Chan simply.

“So why-”

“Do you trust me?” Chan cuts in. He wants nothing more than to wipe Minho’s face clear of the fear creeping into the lines of his skin.

Minho’s eyes go wide, but he nods without hesitation. “Yes.”

Chan takes his hand, runs his thumb against Minho’s palm. Now Minho can’t seem to take his eyes off him. “Felix is marrying Prince Changbin.”

Minho makes a small sound of surprise when his lips fall apart.

“They snuck around and fell in love.” Chan laughs a little. “Not that I can blame Felix. It must run in the family.”

Minho tenses, goes perfectly still.

“There’s more to it, of course, but there’s time for all that later. I just . . . the important part is that I don’t have to marry Changbin or any other prince or princess for the sake of my kingdom.” He grins, giddy. “I’m free.”

Minho searches his face for a long moment, still as stone. “What are you going to do, then?” His voice is a hush of wind sweeping through trees.

Instead of answering, Chan says, “I had not quite realized the full extent of how much it would break me if I ever lost you.”

Minho watches him, waits.

Chan takes a breath. “I’m in love with you.”

All the air shudders out of Minho. His hand trembles faintly in Chan’s.

“You don’t have to do anything, say anything back, I just needed to tell you.”

Minho is painfully quiet. For a long, dragging moment, all he does is try to pull air back into his lungs. Then he wets his lips and the embers in his eyes begin to glow again. “Are you sure?” He asks carefully. “We can’t go back if you say yes.”

Chan nods. “I know. But I am.”

Minho smiles, small and new. He is scared, but he is brave. “Then come here. I love you, Chan. More than anything.”

Chan lets Minho pull him closer, catch his lips, and sighs. Maybe when the sun rises to a new day, nothing will be quite as simple as it feels now, but at Minho’s side, one hand in his and the other brushing against his cheek, Chan thinks simple will hardly matter. He turned on fate for this and fate bent backwards to his will. If fate cannot take Minho from him, nothing can. He’s not going to let Minho go. He smiles into the kiss. Yes, this is where he’s meant to be. Right here.

**Author's Note:**

> we're gonna ignore the whole aspect of heirs to the throne okay? okay. thank u n have a lovely day!


End file.
